


You Made Me Marry Kreacher

by iamisaac



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Sex, Eventual Fluff, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Mistaken Identity, mock marriage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-03
Updated: 2015-01-03
Packaged: 2018-03-05 01:35:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: see pairings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3100202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iamisaac/pseuds/iamisaac





	You Made Me Marry Kreacher

_**Harry Potter: Ron/Kreacher, Ron/Harry**_  
 **Title:** You Made Me Marry Kreacher  
 **Written for** [](http://asylums.insanejournal.com/daily_deviant/profile)[**daily_deviant**](http://asylums.insanejournal.com/daily_deviant/)  
 **Pairings:** Ron/Kreacher, Ron/Harry  
 **Rating:** NC17  
 **Warnings:** see pairings  
 **Themes/kinks chosen:** Mock Marriage  
 **Author's notes:** Sorry.  
  
  
  
“I can’t believe you asked me to do this,” Ron grumbled bitterly. “No, wait, I just **don’t want to** believe that I’m going to do this. I can believe that you asked me, just not that I’m actually carrying the bloody thing through.”  
  
“The older ones must marry before the younger,” chanted Ginny in a sing-song voice. “Bill married Fleur. Charlie has Graham, and George has Alicia – and their twins Fred and Rick. Even P-P-Percy’s settled down happily. I always thought _he’d_ be the sticking point.”  
  
“Shut up.”  
  
Whilst Ron accepted, logically, that he and Hermione would not have been suited as a long term couple, emotionally it was a different thing. **Especially** when she’d gone off and married his own brother – and not any old brother, but _Percy_. Percy and Hermione. He’d learned to put a good face on it, but it still pissed him off, every time he thought of it.  
  
“Touchy!” grinned Ginny. “I thought you were over that.”  
  
“I was. I am. There’s nothing to get over. I always said that Hermione was too bossy for me anyway, all right? It was a mutual decision to split up.”  
  
“Yeah, but not a mutual decision to marry Percy…”  
  
Ron snorted suddenly.  
  
“Well, thank God for that, Gin. You might have got me into this, but at least I’ve never been into _incest_.”  
  
“What?”  
  
“Mutual decision to marry Percy? Think about it!”  
  
“Oh.”  
  
“Anyway,” said Ron, remembering his particular point of grievance. “That’s not the point. The point is… the point is…”  
  
“…that I’ve set you up a nice wedding of your own,” said Ginny sweetly.  
  
“A nice… a nice… a **nice** wedding?” Ron was nearly incoherent with indignity. “Ginny, you’re getting me hitched to bloody _Kreacher_ , and you call this… AND, what’s more, I thought you were supposed to marry Harry? You had a crush on him for years, for God’s sake. It was embarrassing.”  
  
“No bigger than your crush,” interrupted Ginny; but Ron decided that he was best off ignoring that (rather annoyingly true) comment, and continued.  
  
“Yeah, and so you get together and all of that…”  
  
“…Just like you and Hermione…”  
  
“Shut UP, Ginny… And now it turns out that it’s all off and I’ve got to produce a wedding ring so that you can run off with Tonks and produce magic multi-meta-morph-babies with her! Since when did that become the plan?”  
  
“I bet you couldn’t say multi-meta-morph-babies again if you tried,” Ginny commented. “Anyway, it’s time you came along to your wedding.”  
  
Suddenly Ron blanched.  
  
“I’m not going. You can’t make me.”  
  
“Can’t I?” demanded Ginny grimly. “Come off it, Ron. You agreed. We’ve been through everything. I’ve even got you Victoire and Teddy to act as bridesmaid and groomsboy.”  
  
“Great,” mumbled Ron. He edged away from the doorway, through which he was supposed to be going to his wedding.  
  
“You’d’ve had the twins if they hadn’t been too young, too.”  
  
“Yeah, well, thank heaven for small mercies. They might be under a year, but there’s too much twinness about them already.”  
  
“Ron!” Ginny had grabbed him by his dress robes, and was tugging him towards the doorway. “You are not going to back out of this. I mean it.”  
  
“Ginny, I can’t.” Ron was looking slightly green about the face now, his freckles standing out in resolution against his skin. “I can’t. Oh God, I can’t. I’m sorry, and I’m sorry about you and Tonks and everything, but I can’t do it. You can’t make me, and I can’t do it myself.”  
  
Ginny had her wand out. Ron had noticed before that Gin armed with a wand was a dangerous sight, but today he was almost too nervous to care.  
  
“Ronald Weasley, get out there. It’s only a ceremony. Stop acting like a total wuss.”  
  
“I **am** a total wuss. I am when it comes to Kreacher. Ginny, I _can’t_. Especially because you said that we’d need to… you know, make sure it counted as a proper marriage. I can’t face it.”  
  
“Don’t be silly, Ron,” Ginny said briskly. “It just needs to be a quick in-and-out and it’s all over and done with. It’s nothing major.”  
  
“Nothing major?” Ron whimpered. “Ginny, it’s Kreacher. Sex and Kreacher should not even be mentioned in the same sentence, let alone…” He gulped, unable to finish the sentence.  
  
“Get out there right now.” Ginny’s wand was pointing straight at him and her voice was dangerous. “Ron, if you let me down now, I am never going to forgive you. Remember that. And I have a very long memory.” Her voice changed. “Please, bro. I’ve tried not to ask you for things all my life, but please.”  
  
“I…”  
  
Ginny had dragged him to the door before Ron had a chance to finish his sentence. Eyes screwed shut, he followed his sister, and within the hour, Ronald Weasley and Kreacher the House-Elf had been joined in matrimony.  
  
*  
  
Ron faced the House-Elf in the bedroom and he came within an inch of running away. Kreacher had hair growing from his nostrils. He had hair growing from his ears. He was small, squat and – so very much beyond unappealing. He turned away.  
  
“I can’t do it.” His voice was muffled. “I’m sorry, Kreacher, and I’m sure you’re very nice and everything, but I just can’t do it.”  
  
“What is Master’s problem?”  
  
 _What_ , thought Ron, _apart from the fact we’re supposed to be **married** and you’re calling me Master?_  
  
“Um…” Truthfully, he didn’t know where to start.  
  
“Is it what Kreacher looks like?”  
  
 _It’s what you look like, what you sound like, what you smell like, what you ARE._ Not so long ago, Ron would have said the words aloud. But slowly, sometimes painfully, he’d learned to keep silence.  
  
“Nothing personal, you know,” he said in embarrassment. “Just – you’re not… um… well, human, for a start.”  
  
“Kreacher could help there.”  
  
“Huh?”  
  
The House-Elf looked shiftily at him.  
  
“Kreacher could cast a glamour spell, Master.”  
  
“Erm, in English, what d’you mean?”  
  
“Kreacher would become someone you desired. Kreacher wouldn’t look like Kreacher but like… someone else. Kreacher would be someone different.”  
  
 _Oh God, this is so wrong._ It was too late for that thought. Ginny would kill him if he backed out now. Or keep him alive and torture him slowly. Was it too late to wish his little sister wasn’t such a proficient witch?  
  
“Do I have to tell you someone?”  
  
“Oh no, Master. But when you look at Kreacher, you will see…” Kreacher’s voice lowered… “that which you most desire.”  
  
“Oh.”  
  
Well, it sounded okay. Or rather, since **nothing** in this whole hideous situation sounded okay, it sounded better than reality was looking at the moment.  
  
“Would Master like that?”  
  
“I guess,” Ron said dubiously.  
  
 _Oh God, what if he turns into Fleur? How am I ever going to explain that?_ On the other hand, Ron mused, who was going to know? Except, presumably, Kreacher – and please, God, Kreacher wouldn’t tell. Thing is, Ron would know. Every time he saw Fleur he’d think about… oh, that was just too awful to consider. But still not as awful as reality.  
  
“Then Kreacher will cast the spell. Master must shut his eyes.”  
  
“Okay.”  
  
Obediently, Ron closed his eyes. _Please let this not be too embarrassing. Please._ He waited a minute or so, then, unable to bear the silence, he opened them.  
  
 _Oh no. Oh. No._ It wasn’t Fleur. That much could be said for the person who now stood before him. It wasn’t Fleur.  
  
It was Harry.  
  
“Um…” Ron’s voice came out as a strangled croak. “I don’t think it’s worked.”  
  
“Do you still see Kreacher?” And it sounded like Harry, too.  
  
“Well, no…”  
  
“Then it must have worked.”  
  
“But…” Ron fumbled for words. “It’s just that you don’t look quite like I… well, like I thought you would.”  
  
“You see what you most desire,” ‘Harry’ said matter-of-factly.  
  
 _Oh shit._ The worst thing was, the more chance he had to think about it, the more Ron had an awful feeling that Kreacher-Harry was right. He always had had a bit of a… well, **thing** for Harry.  
  
“Right. Um. Do you know what you look like?”  
  
“Ron, I don’t just **look** like Harry, I am Harry, okay?”  
  
“Yeah. Except you’re Kreacher. Oh God, Harry, you’re Kreacher.”  
  
Harry strode towards Ron and shook him violently.  
  
“No, I’m not. Okay? I look like me, I talk like me, and I think like me. I am me, and please don’t keep telling me I’m someone else or I’ll go mad. Now, are you going to take me to bed or am I going to take you?”  
  
“Seriously, the Harry I know would never have said something like that.”  
  
Harry grinned.  
  
“Seriously, the Harry I know has been dying to say that for ages and has never had the guts.”  
  
Harry still had his hands on Ron’s shoulders, and he leaned in towards him to kiss him with a shy sort of gentleness which Ron found oddly touching. It was, probably, how Real-Harry would have acted if – Ron sighed to himself - _if_ he’d fancied him. Ron found himself responding, shutting his eyes and embracing his best friend (who was really Kreacher… no, Ron couldn’t start thinking like that, or he’d be the one going mad) with an affection he’d have died rather than shown under any other circumstances.  
  
The kiss became longer, more prolonged. Ron pressed closer to Harry and realised that Harry was already aroused. His erection was straining and pushing against Ron’s leg and Ron… Ron found it a fucking turn-on, and he was So Glad that no one was ever going to find out about this. Especially not Harry. Apart from the fact that this Was Harry, obviously. Not Kreacher. (Ron’s burgeoning hard-on sank like a stone as the House-Elf came to mind again. How were they **ever** going to get through this?)  
  
“Ron…” Harry whimpered. “I know what you’re thinking.”  
  
“God, I hope not.” Ron’s response was heart-felt.  
  
Harry sighed.  
  
“Look, I’m not Kreacher, okay? I’m Harry. Ask me questions that Kreacher wouldn’t know. Do something, because this… _Please_ , Ron!”  
  
And Harry sounded all uncertain again, and Ron really shouldn’t find that so appealing, but he did; and he had a feeling it was **because** it was Harry, and Harry was always the brave one, and to hear him sounding like he really wanted Ron to want him was just…  
  
“Sorry, Harry.”  
  
And this time it was Ron’s turn to move in for the kiss. This kiss was even better than the last, which had had a few disadvantages as they turned their heads the wrong way, and generally showed their inexperience. Now, it was like they’d been at it for ages, and Harry was – Harry was **good** at this (and Ron really really REALLY should not be jealous of Ginny because resenting your younger sister for having a relationship with your best friend was just wrong. Even if you were about to have sex with him).  
  
Harry pulled him towards the bed, where they collapsed in a tangled heap of body parts – and, okay, maybe they hadn’t got this whole thing entirely sorted yet, but Ron was beginning to think he wouldn’t mind working on it. Harry’s hands were frenzied and eager on his body, and it was… well, granted Ron hadn’t had **much** experience with girls, but he’d had some and this definitely wasn’t the same. It was considerably, enormously better. Which might be just because it was Harry (YES, it **was** Harry) but whatever the reason it was fucking great and Ron wasn’t about to analyse it too far in case it went away again.  
  
“Oh God, yes,” he groaned, his own hands pushing aside Harry’s robes.  
  
“Ron…”  
  
“What?”  
  
Ron’s hand slid around Harry’s cock as he spoke. He looked up into Harry’s eyes, still shielded by glasses. Harry gave a lopsided smile.  
  
“Do this often?” he said breathlessly as Ron began to move his hand.  
  
Ron kept his eyes on Harry’s. It was impossible to believe that it was anyone but Harry when he was staring right into those familiar eyes. Okay, he’d once seen seven versions of him (hell, he’d **been** Harry, once – and that was seriously not something to be thinking about now) but somehow… there was something about this Harry that seemed right. It wasn’t just someone acting Harry, it was Harry himself. And God, Ron fancied him. Ron’s hand moved with slow precision, then faster.  
  
“Yeah. Regularly,” he said.  
  
Harry tugged at Ron’s robes, and Ron heard a button pop off.  
  
“Watch it,” he complained. “That’s my best dress robes, that is.”  
  
“Don’t you know you’re not supposed to wear your wedding clothes more than once?” Harry countered; but his fingers sought out the buttons and unfastened them in a more traditional manner before he thrust the robes over Ron’s shoulders.  
  
Ron removed his hand from Harry long enough to pull the robes off, then returned to what he had been doing. Harry, with Ron naked in front of him, took advantage to nibble every section of his partner that he could reach. Ron hadn’t realised that it was possible to have… Hermione would have called it ‘an erogenous zone’ (and he could do without thinking about her right now, either)… just underneath his ribs. He was sure it had never been one before, but… and Ron stopped thinking under Harry’s sensual attack.  
  
“Fuck, mate,” he muttered, suppressing a moan with difficulty.  
  
“I could say the same,” Harry breathed, his glasses lopsided. “Oh hell,” he added, removing them with an irritated gesture.  
  
“I thought you couldn’t see without them.”  
  
Harry grinned.  
  
“I can’t, much. But I can feel you. Seems like a good plan to me.”  
  
Ron nodded.  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
“In fact…” Harry sounded shy again. “I’d been thinking of doing this…”  
  
He lowered his mouth still further on Ron’s body, twisting himself to allow Ron to keep his hand on his erection. Harry’s mouth dropped lower and lower until it just touched the tip of Ron’s cock. A pink tongue poked out and gave a tentative lick.  
  
“Oh, _shit_.”  
  
“Not good?” Harry asked anxiously.  
  
“Well good, Harry. Mate, I…”  
  
Ron closed his eyes and tried to stop himself from thrusting himself towards Harry’s mouth. He’d experienced this before, but – oh, why stop denying it, when the glamour spell had proved it once and for all? – never with Harry, whom he loved more than any other. Harry seemed to have got the message, however, and his tongue was squirming and sliding all over Ron until Ron couldn’t help but jerk towards him. Then… God, Harry had taken him in his mouth and…  
  
“Oh, fuck, stop or I’ll…” Ron thought of Kreacher again, and the fear of coming too soon faded. So did the erection.  
  
“Ro-on,” whinged Harry. “You’re thinking about _that_ again.”  
  
“And since when did you become a mind-reader?”  
  
Harry grinned.  
  
“Since I saw you like this.”  
  
He lunged towards Ron and kissed his mouth. Ron could taste… well, **himself** , he thought in bemusement… on Harry’s lips. That shouldn’t be a good thing, but anything that happened between him and Harry at the moment seemed to turn him on. Except… but he was NOT going to keep thinking about that.  
  
He began to move his hand, which was still apparently attached to Harry’s penis, and had got mysteriously sweaty, as if his hand was managing to get aroused by the proximity without the rest of him having thought about it.  
  
“And yes,” Harry panted, a bead of sweat sliding down his face (Ron had to resist a weird urge to lick it off), “I had noticed what you are doing with your hand.”  
  
And shortly, without consciously intending it, without even realising it was happening until it had happened, and certainly with no real idea of how they’d got like this, Ron’s cock was squeezing inside Harry, gently at first as he met resistance, but then as the resistance broke, moving harder and faster and… “Come _on_ ,” Ron heard himself yelling. Harry had his head bent back and Ron had one hand in his hair and was somehow tugging at it for purchase (or rather, why not admit it, because it felt good). His hand moved up and down Harry’s erection until Harry came; and the sight made Ron follow suit, and they lay sweaty and panting in a heap on the bed.  
  
Time stood still.  
  
Until…  
  
“Um, Ron…”  
  
Harry’s voice seemed to penetrate a strange thick fog surrounding him. Ron was suddenly brought back to the present.  
  
“Oh God, no…” Because Harry wasn’t Harry at all. Ron sat bolt upright, looking at Harry with horrified eyes. “Can you just give me a chance to get dressed, or something, before…”  
  
“Before what?”  
  
“Before you… oh bloody hell, before you _turn back_.”  
  
“Yeah, about that,” said Harry slowly.  
  
“No, please, honestly, I really don’t want to know,” Ron babbled uncomfortably. “I mean, it was a good thing and all and I’m really glad that you did it, but I don’t want to know the details and I really don’t want to think about it and I’m sorry if I’m pissing you off here, but I really can’t…”  
  
“Ron, **shut up**!” Harry raised his voice to a yell.  
  
“Okay.”  
  
“Ron, I’m Harry, okay?” It was Harry’s turn to look uncomfortable. “Don’t say anything, just for a second, please. Then you can kill me, all right?”  
  
“Um…”  
  
Ron looked at his friend nervously. It didn’t help that Harry himself was looking a strange sort of colour and didn’t seem to be able to meet his eye. Harry took a deep breath.  
  
“It was Ginny’s idea.” He paused.  
  
“What was?” Ron demanded. “I mean, I know it was!”  
  
“Please, Ron, shut up. Look, she said she was fed up with us messing around and never sorting things out so she… kindofplannedthistosortitout,” Harry finished in a rush.  
  
“What?”  
  
“I’m not Kreacher and I’m – oh God, this is going to sound dreadful, but everytime I got anywhere near asking you if you might like… you kept making comments about how I ought to get back with Ginny, and… I just had to know and Ginny said that you did fancy me, you were just in denial and that if I only…”  
  
“Harry!” Ron put a hand on Harry’s arm and stared fixedly at him. “You mean, you’re _Harry_.”  
  
“I’ve been telling you that all along,” protested Harry. Ron fell back onto the bed and shut his eyes. “Ron, I’m sorry. Ron…”  
  
“Oh, thank God,” Ron said fervently. He opened his eyes again and prodded Harry gently. “You do mean it, don’t you? I mean – you are Harry? You’re not just trying to make me feel better? You’re not” (he had to say it) “you’re not going to turn back into Kreacher in a minute, or something?”  
  
“Is… this the moment just before you start yelling?” Harry asked nervously.  
  
“You’re not Kreacher. Oh Harry, you’re not Kreacher. Harry, mate, you’re…”  
  
“Not Kreacher,” Harry finished. He hesitated, then went on. “Ron, you do understand what I’m saying, don’t you? I… er… kind of forced you into this, and…”  
  
Ron frowned.  
  
“You mean… you knew all along you weren’t Kreacher?” He processed his question and realised the idiocy of it. “YOU MADE ME MARRY KREACHER!” he bellowed.  
  
“Um…”  
  
“You! You and Ginny! You…”  
  
“NO, Ron…”  
  
Ron gaped at him like a stranded codfish.  
  
“What?”  
  
Harry took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes.  
  
“You married me,” he said sheepishly.  
  
“Harry, I’m not stupid, all right? I know who I was standing next to and it wasn’t you, okay?”  
  
“Glamour spell,” Harry murmured apologetically. “In reverse, sort of.”  
  
Ron stared at him without speaking for two solid minutes. Then, finally, he spoke.  
  
“Harry,” he said, “it’s a good job you’re married to me, otherwise I’d kill you. Now, where’s Ginny…?”

* * *  
  
---


End file.
